Share
MidReal Story
My Forbidden Love
Scenario:this is in chicago a story about music and love and drama and jealousy and arson and fights and talent and fame and sex and nudity and pregnancy and prison and my name is mohamed abdi and i am 24 years old and i have dark skin and i have tattoos on my arms and abdomen and shoulders and i work in construction for my boss henry wayne and he is 47 years old and he is kind to me and my parents died in a car accident when i was 5 years old and i was sent to multiple group homes until i was 18 years old and i met my best friend when i was 15 years old and his name is josh anderson and he is 26 years old and he wants to be a world famous singer and songwriter but he cant sing or write songs while i can sing and play piano and guitar and drums and i live in small house and i am poor barely making money
Create my version of this story
Mohamed Abdi
He is a 24yearold man living in a small,rundown house in Chicago. He is resilient,talented,and independent. Mohamed grew up in foster care after his parents died in a car accident when he was five. His best friend,Josh,wanted to be a famous singersongwriter but never achieved his dream. Mohamed,however,turned out to be musically gifted. He works at a construction site under his boss,Henry,who treats him well despite being 47 and wealthy.
Henry Wayne
He is Mohamed's boss at the construction site where he works. He is hardworking,kindhearted,and generous. Henry took Mohamed under his wing when he was struggling to find a job after finishing high school. Despite being wealthy from inherited assets,he enjoys working with Mohamed and sees potential in him. He often rewards Mohamed for good work and helps him with minor expenses when he's short on cash.
Josh Anderson
He is Mohamed's best friend since they met at a group home when Mohamed was 15 and Josh was 17. He is ambitious,passionate,and slightly insecure. Josh always dreamed of becoming a famous singersongwriter,struggling to achieve his goal despite releasing an album that failed commercially. He harbors unspoken feelings for Mohamed and feels envious of his natural talent. They have been friends since childhood and share a deep bond despite their differences.
My name is Mohamed Abdi, I am 24 years old, I have dark skin, tattoos on my arms, abdomen, and shoulders.
I work on a construction site with my best friend Josh Anderson.
My boss is Henry Wayne, he is 47 years old.
He treats me very well despite being much older and wealthier than me.
I met Josh Anderson when I was 15 years old and he was 17.
We were living in a group home after my parents died in a car accident when I was 5 years old.
I was sent to different group homes until I turned 18 years old.
When I left the group home, I didn't have anywhere to go or any family to support me.
I had to look for a job immediately to take care of myself.
Luckily, I got a job at a construction site.
My boss at the time hired me despite not having any experience.
He took me under his wing and taught me many things about construction.
After my shift ends, I take a shower and eat something.
I am about to go to sleep when Josh calls me.
"Hey, man, how are you?"
I ask him.
"I am good. I have a gig tomorrow night. I want you to come with me," he says.
"Sure, I will come with you. Where is it?"
"It's at a club downtown. I need you to play guitar while I sing," he says.
"Okay, I will play guitar for you," I say.
"Thank you so much, man. You're the best," he says before hanging up.
I grab my old guitar from under my bed and check the strings.
I practice the chords for a few minutes before going to sleep.
The next day after my shift ends, I go home and take a shower.
I put on some clothes and wait for Josh to pick me up.
He arrives 30 minutes later and we drive to the club.
We get there and he introduces me to his manager, Susan Edwards.
She is 45 years old, she has blonde hair, blue eyes, and white skin.
She is very beautiful and has a nice smile on her face. "This is my friend Mohamed Abdi. He is going to play guitar while I sing," Josh says.
"Nice to meet you, Mohamed," she says as she shakes my hand.
"Nice to meet you too," I say as I shake her hand back.
She then introduces us to her daughter Sasha Edwards.
She is 25 years old, she has blonde hair, blue eyes, and white skin like her mother.
She is also very beautiful and has a nice smile on her face.
"Hi, I'm Sasha Edwards. It's nice to meet you both," she says as she shakes our hands.
"Hi, Sasha. It's nice to meet you too," Josh says as he shakes her hand back.
"Hi, Sasha. It's nice to meet you too," I say as I shake her hand back.
We then go on stage and I start playing the guitar.
Josh starts singing the song "Who I Am" which I wrote.
He starts singing the verses but forgets the lyrics to the chorus.
The crowd starts laughing at him and he gets nervous.
His voice starts shaking and he makes a fool of himself on stage.
I decide to take over and sing the rest of the song.
I sing the verses, chorus, and bridge with confidence.
The crowd seems to like my voice more than Josh's and they start clapping along with me.
When the song ends, everyone claps for me.
Josh looks disappointed that he made a mistake and that I did better than him.
After the performance, I grab my guitar and we leave the stage.
Josh stops me and thanks me for saving him on stage.
I tell him that he should have known the lyrics to the song because we practiced it many times before.
He apologizes and says that he was nervous.
He asks me to come back with him so that we can hear what Susan has to say about our performance.
I tell him that I don't care what she says because I am not going to sing again.
We start arguing and three guys come up to us and start beating Josh up.
They tell him that he owes them money because of his gambling problem.
One of the guys is Oliver, who works with us at Henry's construction site.
I punch and kick Oliver in the face and stomach until he falls down.
The other two guys run away when they see me fighting Oliver.
Oliver groans on the ground, clutching his stomach.
"You don't know what you're getting yourself into, Mohamed," he says through gritted teeth.
"Maybe not, but I know when someone's crossed a line," I reply, helping Josh to his feet.
The police arrive and arrest me for assaulting Oliver.
They throw me into a cell overnight.
The next morning, Susan comes to bail me out.
She explains that she helped me because she believes in my talent and wants to give me a chance.
She insists that I come to her house with a music studio so that I can sing and record one of my songs for her daughter Sasha and Tom, her new co-manager.
I am reluctant at first, but I agree because I need the money.
I follow her to her car, and we drive through the busy streets of Chicago to her house.
When we arrive, she introduces me to Sasha and Tom.
Tom is 40 years old, he has black hair, brown eyes, and dark skin.
Susan shows me the music studio in her house and sets up the recording equipment while I tune my guitar.
Sasha watches me with curiosity as I play a few chords.
Tom nods his head in approval.
"Let's try a song," he says.
I start singing, focusing on each note.
They watch me intently as I finish the song.
Susan claps her hands together in excitement.
"You have an amazing voice," she says.
I stand in Susan's home studio, guitar in hand, as she sets up the recording equipment.
Sasha watches me with curiosity as I tune my guitar.
Tom nods his head in approval.
"Let's try a song," he says.
Tom adjusts the microphone stand while Sasha sits at the mixing console, her eyes fixed on me.
"Ready when you are," she says with a nod.
I take a deep breath and begin to play the opening chords of "Who I Am."
The music fills the room, and I close my eyes, letting the emotions flow through me.
I start singing, pouring my heart into every word.
The lyrics tell the story of my life: my parents' accident, the group homes, and the struggles I faced growing up.
Each line is raw and honest, a reflection of my experiences and feelings.
As I sing, I feel a connection to the music that's hard to explain.
It's like the words are coming from a place deep within me, a place where emotions and memories collide.
When I finish, Susan, Tom, and Sasha applaud.
"That was amazing," Susan says with a smile.
Sasha quickly gets to work producing the beat for the song, adding layers of sound to enhance the melody. Once she's done, Susan pulls out her phone and creates social media accounts for me.
"First, I need to upload your song to Spotify," she says, tapping away on her screen.
After a few minutes, she shows me my new Spotify account.
"Who I Am" is now live for anyone to stream.
Next, she creates an Instagram account for me, posting a short clip of the song with the caption "New Music Alert!"
She does the same on TikTok, using a snippet of the song as the background audio for a video announcing my debut.
"Now we wait," she says, smiling.
I sit there watching as the streams start rolling in.
I refresh the page over and over again, seeing the numbers climb higher and higher.
Susan looks at me with a smile on her face and points at the numbers.
"Look at that," she says.
The song has 9 million streams.
We all celebrate quietly, and Sasha and Tom join us in the studio.
"Nine million streams in just a few hours?" Sasha says, her eyes wide with disbelief.
Tom chuckles, shaking his head. "I knew you had something special, but this is beyond what I imagined."
Susan leans in, her expression serious. "This could change everything for you, Mohamed. Are you ready for what comes next?"
I sit there, hands gripping the edge of the chair, as I try to process everything that's happening.
The computer screens in front of me glow with numbers climbing higher and higher.
Susan leans forward, her eyes locked on mine.
"This is just the beginning," she says, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and concern.
"There will be interviews, performances, and contracts to review. It's a lot to handle, but I believe you have what it takes."
Sasha pulls up another screen, showing a flurry of social media notifications.
"Your song is going viral," she says with a smile.
Tom steps away, his phone pressed to his ear as he makes rapid-fire calls to industry contacts.
Susan looks at me intently, her expression serious.
"This is your chance to make a name for yourself, Mohamed. Are you ready for this journey?"
I look at the song title "Who I Am" displayed on the screen.
I think of my parents and all they sacrificed for me.
I give her a firm nod.
"Yes," I say with conviction.
"Let's get started."
In Susan's studio, I pace back and forth, my mind racing with thoughts of the upcoming Instagram live stream.
Susan adjusts the ring light and camera setup, while Tom explains how to position myself for the best lighting.
Sasha shows me the growing number of viewers already waiting in the virtual lobby - over 50,000 people.
Susan hands me a bottle of water and reminds me to introduce myself before playing.
The red "live" button blinks, making my heart race faster.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and lean forward to press the button.
The screen flashes "Live" and comments start flooding in immediately.
Following Susan's coaching, I position myself in front of the microphone and adjust my guitar strap.
"Hey everyone, I'm Mohamed Abdi," I say, my voice shakier than I intended.
Sasha gives me a thumbs up from behind the camera while Tom monitors the audio levels.
The viewer count jumps to 75,000.
I close my eyes, grip my guitar pick tightly, and start strumming the opening chords to "Who I Am."
I take a deep breath and look directly into the camera lens.
Seventy-five thousand pairs of eyes are on me, but I tune out the comments pinging in my ear.
The studio lights warm my skin, and my fingers find their familiar position on the guitar strings.
A calmness washes over me, different from the nervousness minutes ago.
Sasha gives me a thumbs up from behind the camera while Susan nods encouragingly.
The comment notifications keep pinging, but I tune them out.
My voice fills the room, stronger and clearer than ever before, as I share my story through music.
After finishing "Who I Am," I open my eyes and glance at the screen.
The viewer count has passed 100,000.
Comments flood the screen, mostly from international fans begging for concerts and new music.
Susan gives me a nod, and I end the stream.
Tom records the final statistics while Sasha approaches me with a smile.
"Let's go see where you live," she says, her voice filled with excitement.
I hesitate for a moment, unsure if I want to show her my small house.
But she looks so eager that I agree.
During the drive, Sasha glances at me occasionally, her eyes lingering on the tattoos peeking through my shirt.
"Those tattoos have stories, don't they?" Sasha asks, her voice soft but curious.
I nod, keeping my eyes on the road. "Yeah, each one marks a chapter of my life I can't forget."
Sasha leans back in her seat, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Maybe one day you'll share those stories with me."
I lead Sasha through my cramped living room.
Her eyes take in the worn furniture and bare walls.
She sits on my threadbare couch while I explain how the drunk driver killed my parents, leaving me alone at age five.
My voice catches as I describe the group homes - the violence, the drugs, the abuse I endured.
Sasha listens intently, her eyes filled with empathy.
I sit next to her, and she places her hand on my arm, tracing the outline of my tattoos.
"I made a few friends in those places," I continue.
"One of them was a kid named Josh. We became like brothers. We protected each other and found ways to escape the chaos."
Sasha's touch is gentle, comforting.
I look down at her hand on my arm, feeling a mix of vulnerability and connection.
"He taught me how to play guitar," I say softly.
"It was our way of expressing ourselves, of finding hope in the darkness."
The sounds of the city outside fill the room - cars passing by, people talking on the street.
It's a reminder that there's a world beyond these walls, but in this moment, all that matters is Sasha's presence beside me.
I feel a sense of trust building between us, a connection that goes beyond words. Sasha shifts closer, her body pressing against mine.
I can feel the warmth of her skin through our clothes.
She looks up at me, her eyes searching mine for something.
I'm not sure what she sees, but I know what I feel - a sense of longing, of desire.
Without thinking, I lean forward and press my lips against hers.
It's a soft, gentle kiss, but it holds so much emotion.
Sasha responds, deepening the kiss as our bodies mold together.
We break apart for a moment, gasping for air.
Then we fall back onto the couch together, our lips meeting once more.
The world around us fades away as we lose ourselves in each other's embrace.
Hours pass as we lay entangled on my small bed, the sheets tangled around our bodies.
The sound of rain patters against the windowpane outside.
I run my fingers through Sasha's hair as she rests her head on my chest. "Do you think Susan and Tom would mind if we don't tell them about this?" she asks softly, her voice muffled by my skin.
I smile and pull the blanket over us again.
"Probably not," I reply, my voice filled with contentment.
"But it's better if we keep this between us for now."
Sasha nods in agreement, her eyes closing as she snuggles closer to me.
The rain continues to fall outside, creating a soothing melody that fills the room.
I feel her hand tracing the outline of my tattoos again, and I know she's curious about their stories.
I take a deep breath and begin to tell her about each one - the memories they hold, the pain they represent, and the lessons they've taught me.
As I speak, the rain grows heavier, drumming against the windowpane in a steady rhythm.
Sasha listens intently, her body pressed against mine under the blanket.
The warmth of her skin seeps into my own, providing a sense of comfort and security I've never felt before.
The next morning at 10 am, I wake to the sound of Sasha playing my piano.
I sit up and watch her for a moment before joining her on the bench.
We play together, our fingers moving in harmony as we create a beautiful melody.
After a while, we shower and brush our teeth.
I make breakfast while she sets the table.
As we eat, there's a knock at the door.
I get up to answer it, expecting it to be Tom or Susan.
But when I open the door, I'm surprised to see Tom standing there with a smile on his face.
"Hey, Mohamed," he says, his voice filled with excitement.
"I have some good news for you."
I step aside to let him in, and he sees Sasha sitting at the table.
"Oh, I didn't know you had company," he says, his smile fading slightly.
Sasha stands up and approaches us.
"Hi, Tom," she says, her voice friendly but cautious.
"I just got here 10 minutes ago. I was going to surprise Mohamed."
Tom nods and smiles again.
"Okay, no problem," he says.
"I'll leave you two alone then."
Sasha shakes her head and places her hand on his arm.
"No, it's okay," she says.
"You can stay. I'm sure Mohamed wants to hear your good news."
Tom looks at me uncertainly, and I nod in agreement with Sasha.
"Sure," I say.
"Come in and tell me what's going on." Tom sits down at the table with us and pulls out his phone.
He opens an app and shows me a graph with numbers on it.
"This is the current ranking of 'Who I Am' on the US Top 100 Pop Charts," he explains.
"As you can see, it's currently at number 12 and still climbing. It's also still viral on social media platforms."
I look at the graph in amazement, feeling a mix of emotions inside me.
I never expected my song to reach such heights so quickly.
Tom continues speaking, his voice filled with excitement.
"This means that you're now officially a famous artist, Mohamed," he says.
"And as such, you need to start working on your second single immediately. The fans are waiting for more music from you."
I nod in agreement with him, feeling a sense of determination rising within me.
Sasha looks at me with a wide grin. "This is incredible, Mohamed! You're really making it big."
I nod, still processing the news. "Yeah, it's surreal. But I guess it's time to give them something new."
I lock my house and drive with Sasha to her mother Susan's mansion.
We go into the music studio, where she takes charge as my producer.
I pull out my notebook filled with lyrics I've written over the past few weeks.
Sasha looks at me and smiles.
"Let's get started then," she says.
I step into the recording booth and put on the headphones.
Sasha starts playing a melody on the piano, and I begin to sing.
The song is called "New Life," and it's about my journey to fame and how it's changed my life.
After we finish recording, Sasha helps me mix and master the track.
Then we upload it to Spotify and Apple Music.
Within hours, the song has 15 million streams.
As I watch the numbers climb, I realize this is just the beginning.
The next day, I arrive at the studio to shoot my first music video for "New Life."
The director, Lisa, greets me and explains the concept.
"We're going to film in various locations around Chicago," she says.
"We'll show you performing the song, as well as scenes that represent the lyrics."
We start filming in a park, where I sing and dance with a group of backup dancers.
Then we move to a rooftop, where I perform with a live band.
After lunch, we head to a nightclub, where we film a scene of me singing and dancing with a crowd of people.
Throughout the day, we take breaks to check the progress of "New Life" online.
I pull out my phone and see that it's already at number 12 on the Top 50 Pop Charts.
"Wow, this is amazing," I say to Lisa.
She smiles and nods in agreement.
"Yes, it's doing great. Let's keep going so we can get this music video out soon."
We finish filming by 10 pm and head back to the studio to edit the footage.
Lisa shows me the final cut the next day, and we upload it to YouTube.
Within days, it has over 10 million views.
As I stand on the rooftop, watching the city lights flicker below, I realize that this is the moment I've been waiting for all my life.
I sit beside Sasha in the studio, our hands brushing as she leans closer.
"Your voice is incredible," she whispers, her breath warm against my ear.
We're alone, the recording equipment silent after our session.
I feel her fingers tracing the tattoos on my arm, each touch sending a shiver through me.
She asks about the stories behind them, and I start to share, my voice low and steady.
As I recount the memories, Sasha's eyes never leave mine, her interest genuine.
"Do you ever think about what your life would be like if you hadn't pursued music?" she asks softly, her eyes searching mine.
I pause, considering her question. "Honestly, I can't imagine doing anything else; it's like music chose me as much as I chose it."
Sasha nods, a thoughtful expression on her face. "It's like destiny, isn't it? Sometimes I wonder if we're all just following a path that's already been laid out for us."
In the studio, Sasha and I work tirelessly on my debut album, "Identity," a 12-track pop album that reflects every aspect of my life.
We spend three hours perfecting each song, and by the end of the day, my voice is hoarse.
After finishing the last track, we upload "Identity" to Spotify and Apple Music.
Within hours, it has 25 million streams.
Next, we shoot music videos for each song in various locations across Chicago, capturing the essence of the lyrics.
Once they're released on YouTube, they quickly rack up millions of views.
I step out of my car, wearing my new leather jacket, and see Josh waiting outside my house.
He looks me up and down, his eyes lingering on my expensive clothes.
Then he glances at Sasha, who's getting into her car to leave for her mother's mansion.
"Hey, Mohamed," he says, giving me a quick hug before turning to Sasha.
"Hi, Sasha. You look beautiful as always."
Sasha smiles and hugs him back.
"Thank you, Josh. You look great too."
I nod in agreement.
"You do look good. When did you get that suit?"
Josh grins proudly.
"I bought it yesterday. I figured I should start dressing like a famous person now that I know one."
Sasha laughs and gets into her car.
"I'll see you both later," she says, waving goodbye as she drives away.
Josh and I walk into my house, and he looks around curiously.
"So, what's the plan for today?" he asks me.
I shrug and head to the kitchen to get us some drinks.
"I don't know yet," I reply.
"Why don't we hit a club?"
Josh's face lights up with excitement.
"That sounds like a great idea," he says enthusiastically. We head to a popular club in Chicago and are immediately ushered to the VIP section.
Free drinks are flowing, and the DJ is playing a house remix of "Who I Am."
Josh raises an eyebrow at me when he hears the song playing in the club.
"It's crazy how fast you've become famous," he comments, taking a sip of his drink.
I nod in agreement, feeling grateful for this opportunity.
"I know. It's still surreal sometimes."
The music is loud, and people are dancing all around us.
Josh leans in close so I can hear him better over the music.
"So, what's going on with you and Sasha?" he asks curiously.
I shrug nonchalantly, trying not to show any emotions on my face.
"Nothing much," I reply casually.
"We're just working together on my album."
Josh raises an eyebrow skeptically at me, but he doesn't say anything else about it. The night goes on like this until 2 am, when we decide it's time to leave.
We're both drunk from drinking too much alcohol throughout the night.
As we step outside into the crisp night air, I realize that everything is about to change.
I sit at Susan's mahogany conference table with Josh beside me.
I'm still hungover from last night's club, and my head is pounding.
Tom walks in with a stack of papers and spreads them across the table.
Susan stands up and presses a button on the wall, revealing a projector screen behind her.
She clicks a button on her laptop, and sales projections appear on the screen.
My head spins as I try to make sense of all the numbers.
Tom opens five boxes and places them on the table.
"Merchandise," he says, opening each box to reveal t-shirts, hoodies, and snapbacks with my name emblazoned in gold.
Josh picks up a leather wallet with my signature embossed on it.
He looks at me with an unreadable expression on his face.
Susan opens another box, revealing a speaker line featuring my logo.
I notice Josh's hands are shaking slightly as he holds one of the speakers. Tom hands me a stack of contracts from five major record labels: Sony, Universal, Warner Music Group, Atlantic Records, and Capitol Records.
I look at him confusedly.
"What are these?"
I ask him.
Tom smiles and leans forward in his chair.
"These are record deals," he explains patiently.
"They're offering you a seven-figure advance for your next album."
I look at Josh, who seems just as surprised as I am by this news.
"Which one should I choose?" he asks Tom uncertainly.
Tom shrugs nonchalantly.
"It's up to you," he replies casually.
"But if I were you, I'd go with Sony. They're offering the most money."
I look at the Sony paperwork on top of the stack.
The pages are pristine and untouched, just waiting for my signature.
The contract promises seven figures and worldwide distribution.
I pick up the black fountain pen that Tom hands me, my hands shaking slightly as I hold it.
Josh shifts uncomfortably in his seat next to me, his breathing heavy and irregular.
Susan stands by the window, her arms crossed over her chest, watching us intently.
Sasha gives me a reassuring nod from across the table.
I place the tip of the pen over the signature line, but I can't bring myself to sign it.
I grip the pen tighter, feeling its weight in my hand.
The conference room falls silent except for Josh's ragged breathing beside me.
Looking at the signature line one last time, memories flash through my mind.
Construction work with Henry.
Group homes.
My parents' accident.
Recording "Who I Am" with Sasha.
My hand moves forward.
The pen touches paper, and I sign my name in flowing black ink.
Tom immediately grabs the contract, checking the signature while Susan pulls out her phone to call Sony.
Josh leans in, his voice barely a whisper.
"Are you sure about this, Mohamed?" he asks, concern etched in his eyes.
I nod slowly, feeling the weight of my decision settle in.
Josh and I walk home after the signing, the night air chilly and crisp.
We're both silent, our footsteps echoing on the empty sidewalk.
Finally, Josh breaks the silence.
"I'm jealous," he confesses, his voice laced with envy.
"I want to be part of this world too."
I stop in my tracks, turning to face him.
"What do you mean?" I ask, genuinely confused.
Josh's eyes lock onto mine, filled with a mix of longing and determination.
"I helped launch your career," he reminds me, his voice tinged with a hint of bitterness.
"I was there from the beginning. And now, I feel like I'm being left behind."
I take a deep breath, trying to understand his perspective.
"Josh, you're my friend," I say, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"You'll always be part of my life."
But Josh shakes his head, his expression unyielding.
"No, Mohamed," he insists.
"You don't get it. I want to be more than just your friend. I want to be part of this world too. I want to be successful like you."
I study his face, searching for any sign of insincerity.
But all I see is genuine desire and determination in his eyes.
"Okay," I finally say, making a decision on the spot.
"I'll help you."
A small smile tugs at the corner of Josh's lips as he nods in gratitude.
"Thank you, Mohamed," he says sincerely.
"You won't regret it." We continue walking in silence for a few more minutes before we reach my house.
As we step inside, I notice Josh's eyes scanning the room with a hint of curiosity.
"So," he says, breaking the silence once again.
"How are we going to make this happen?"
I take a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts.
"Well," I begin slowly.
"First things first. You need to come with me to the studio tomorrow."
Josh's eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he looks at me quizzically.
"The studio?" he repeats incredulously.
"Yeah," I nod firmly.
"Sasha will be there too. And Susan and Tom. They can help us figure out what you want to do."
Josh's face lights up with excitement as he nods enthusiastically.
"Tomorrow sounds great," he exclaims eagerly.
I drive Josh to Susan's mansion in my new BMW, which I bought with the advance from Sony.
We head straight to the studio, where Sasha is already setting up her equipment.
Susan and Tom are seated on a couch, sipping coffee and discussing something in hushed tones.
Josh fidgets with his guitar, his fingers moving nervously over the strings.
Sasha notices his unease and gives him a reassuring smile.
"Don't worry," she says softly.
"Just be yourself."
Josh nods, taking a deep breath as he begins to play.
The music fills the room, and everyone turns their attention to him.
I watch as Josh struggles through his fourth take of the song he wrote.
His voice cracks, and he can't hit the notes.
Susan presses a button on her phone, stopping the recording.
She turns to Josh, her face stern.
"Josh, you can't sing," she says bluntly.
"And you can't write songs."
I see the pain in Josh's eyes as he looks at me, expecting me to defend him.
But instead, anger flares in his eyes.
"You did this," he accuses me, his voice rising.
"You set me up to fail."
He storms out of the studio, slamming the door behind him with a loud bang.
I stand there, torn between my success and his shattered dreams.
"You're going to regret this," he says, his voice filled with venom.
I stand in the studio's hallway, still processing Josh's dramatic exit.
Sasha wraps her arms around me, offering comfort.
"It's not your fault," she whispers in my ear.
"Some people have natural talent, and some just have delusions."
Her words echo in my head as Susan approaches us.
She looks at me with a stern expression on her face.
"Listen, Mohamed," she says, her voice firm but gentle.
"You have two options right now. You can stick with Josh and watch your career fade into obscurity. Or you can make the right choice and pursue global stardom."
I lean against the wall, trying to process everything that has happened.
Memories flood my mind - all the times Josh supported me in the group home, the late nights spent practicing together, and the promise I made to him.
I look at Susan, knowing that I can't turn my back on Josh.
But at the same time, I can't jeopardize my own future either.
"What do I need to do?"
I ask her finally, my voice barely above a whisper.
Susan smiles, a hint of satisfaction on her face.
"First things first," she says, pulling out her phone from her pocket.
"You need to get on that London talk show. It's a huge opportunity for you." I nod slowly, understanding the magnitude of what she is asking of me.
I gather my things and walk to my car alone, feeling the weight of Susan's ultimatum hanging over my head.
As I drive away from the mansion, I pull out my phone and check my social media accounts.
I see a notification from the talk show's producers, confirming my appearance.
I take a deep breath, knowing that I have made the right decision.
The flight to London is long and grueling.
I sit in first class with Tom, Sasha, and Susan.
Sasha spends most of the flight fidgeting with her phone, barely touching her meal.
Tom and Susan discuss business strategies and future plans for my career.
I try to focus on the conversation, but my mind keeps wandering back to Josh.
I wonder if he will ever forgive me for what happened in the studio.
After we land in London, we head straight to The Rocket talk show's green room.
The staff brings us refreshments and explains the format of the show.
Tom talks to the producers about the set list and the timing of my performance.
Sasha pulls me aside to a quiet corner of the room.
She looks nervous, her hands trembling as she holds onto her phone.
"What's wrong?"
I ask her, concerned.
She takes a deep breath before speaking.
"I have something important to tell you," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. I study her face, trying to read her expression.
"Is everything okay?"
I ask again, feeling a sense of unease in my stomach.
She nods slowly, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and excitement.
"I'm pregnant," she says finally, holding up a positive pregnancy test on her phone screen.
My mind races as I process the news.
We've been intimate for four months now, and I never thought it would lead to this.
I pull her into a tight hug, feeling her trembling against me.
I can't stop staring at the photo of the pregnancy test on her phone screen.
"I'm going to be a father," I whisper into her hair.
She nods, her voice choked with emotion.
"We're going to be parents," she says, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and fear.
I hold her closer, trying to reassure her that everything will be okay.
A stagehand interrupts us, his voice loud and clear.
"Five minutes until showtime," he says, his eyes scanning the room.
Sasha pulls away from me, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.
She smudges her makeup, leaving a dark streak on her cheek.
I reach out to help her fix it, but she waves me off.
"I'll do it later," she says, straightening my leather jacket.
"You need to focus on the show."
I nod slowly, my mind still reeling from the news.
Susan walks over to us, a look of confusion on her face.
"What's going on?" she asks, eyeing us suspiciously. "Nothing," Sasha says quickly, forcing a smile onto her face.
"Just a little pre-show jitters."
Susan looks unconvinced but doesn't push the issue further.
She hands me a sheet of paper with my talking points for the interview segment of the show.
I glance over them quickly, my mind still focused on Sasha's news.
The stagehand returns to escort me to the stage.
As I step onto the stage, the bright lights momentarily blind me.
The host greets me with a warm handshake and a wide smile.
"Welcome, Mohamed," he says, his voice booming through the studio.
I settle into the plush leather chair across from him, feeling the weight of the audience's eyes on me.
The studio lights are blindingly bright, and the air is thick with anticipation.
The host, Marcus Reed, is a familiar face in British television, known for his charming smile and quick wit.
He leans forward in his chair, his eyes locked onto mine.
"So, Mohamed," he begins, his voice smooth as silk.
"Tell us about your journey. How did a construction worker from New York end up becoming a chart-topping artist?"
I take a deep breath, my throat suddenly dry.
I glance offstage where Sasha stands with Susan and Tom.
Her hand is protectively placed over her stomach, and I know that our lives are about to change forever.
I lean forward in my chair, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I met Susan and Tom at one of Josh's performances," I say, my words tumbling out in a rush.
"He was supposed to be the next big thing, but his performance was a disaster. I stepped in and sang a few songs, and the rest is history."
The audience leans forward in their seats, hanging on every word.
Marcus nods encouragingly, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"That's quite a story," he says, his voice filled with excitement.
"But what about your background? Where did you grow up?"
I take a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest.
"I grew up in foster care," I say, my voice trembling slightly.
"My parents died when I was just a kid. A drunk driver ran a red light and slammed into their car."
The audience gasps in shock, and Marcus's eyes widen in surprise.
"I'm so sorry," he says, his voice filled with sympathy.
"That must have been incredibly difficult for you."
I nod slowly, my throat tight with emotion.
"It was hard," I admit.
"But I found solace in music. It helped me cope with the pain and the loneliness."
Marcus nods again, his eyes locked onto mine.
"And what about Sasha?" he asks, his voice gentle.
"Tell us about her."
I smile softly, my heart filling with love for the woman who has captured my soul.
"Sasha is everything to me," I say, my voice filled with emotion.
"She's beautiful and smart and kind. She makes me feel alive in ways that I never thought possible." The audience sighs collectively, their faces filled with happiness for us.
Marcus smiles warmly at me, his eyes shining with delight.
"That's wonderful," he says, his voice filled with sincerity.
"I'm so happy for you both."
I nod gratefully at him, feeling a sense of peace wash over me.
For the first time in my life, I feel like everything is going to be okay.
Marcus glances offstage at the producer, who gives him a thumbs-up from behind the curtain.
"Well, Mohamed," Marcus says, turning back to me with a smile.
"It's time for you to perform your new song. Are you ready?"
I nod shakily at him, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves coursing through my veins.
I stand up from my chair and make my way to the microphone stand that has been set up for me on stage.
As I adjust the microphone, I catch Sasha's eye in the wings, her smile encouraging.
Marcus leans back in his chair, giving me a nod of support.
"Break a leg, Mohamed," he says with a wink, and the audience erupts into applause.
I position myself at the grand piano that has been placed center stage, my fingers hovering over the keys.
The studio lights dim slightly, and a spotlight shines down on me as I begin to play the opening notes of "Beautiful Life."
The song is one I wrote just days ago, inspired by my newfound fame and the love that Sasha and I share.
As I begin to sing, my voice carrying the melody through the silent studio, I can't help but feel a sense of pride and accomplishment.
The words flow from my lips like a river, telling the story of a life that has been turned upside down by love and success.
In the middle of the song, I catch Susan's eye in the audience.
Her expression changes from one of mild interest to shock as she realizes what I am singing about.
Her eyes dart back and forth between me and Sasha, who stands beside her with tears streaming down her face.
I can see the realization dawn on Susan's face that our secret is no longer safe, and I feel a mix of emotions as I finish the song.
As I finish the last note of "Beautiful Life," I stand up from the piano, my heart pounding in my chest.
The audience erupts into applause, cheering and whistling for more.
I bow low, my face flushed with excitement.
Marcus Reed steps forward, shaking my hand and patting me on the back.
"That was incredible," he says, his voice filled with genuine admiration.
I smile at him, feeling a sense of pride and accomplishment.
As I step off the stage, I see Susan standing in the wings, her face a mix of shock and anger.
She pulls me aside, her voice low and urgent.
"What was that?" she demands, her eyes flashing with anger.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down.
"I'm sorry," I say, my voice shaking slightly.
"I didn't mean to reveal our secret like that."
Susan's expression softens slightly, her eyes filling with concern.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" she asks, her voice gentler now.
"I'm your manager. I should have known about this."
I shrug helplessly, feeling a mix of guilt and regret.
"I didn't know how to tell you," I admit.
"I was afraid you would be upset."
Susan sighs deeply, her shoulders sagging in defeat.
"I'm not upset," she says finally, her voice filled with resignation.
"I'm just surprised. And a little hurt that you didn't trust me enough to tell me sooner."
I nod slowly, feeling a sense of relief wash over me.
"I'm sorry," I say again, my voice filled with sincerity.
"I promise to always be honest with you from now on." Susan nods slowly, her eyes searching mine for any sign of deception.
After a moment, she seems satisfied that I am telling the truth and nods again.
"Okay," she says finally, her voice filled with acceptance.
"But next time, please don't keep secrets from me. I'm here to help you, not to hurt you."
I nod gratefully at her, feeling a sense of gratitude towards this woman who has become like a mother to me.
"Thank you," I say sincerely, my voice filled with emotion.
"For everything."
Susan smiles softly at me, her eyes shining with love and support.
"You're welcome," she says finally, pulling me into a tight hug.
"Now let's go talk to Sasha and figure out what we're going to do next."
As we walk backstage together, I can see Sasha standing in the corner of the room, her face filled with worry and uncertainty.
After the confrontation with Susan, I find Sasha alone in the dressing room.
She sits at the makeup counter, her hands nervously fidgeting with the bracelets on her wrists.
The room is dimly lit, with soft music playing in the background.
The walls are adorned with plush couches and chairs, giving it a cozy and intimate feel.
The carpet is thick and soft under my feet as I approach her.
I stand behind her chair, and our eyes meet in the reflection of the mirror.
Everything that has happened over the past few months floods my mind - my rise to fame, our secret relationship, the pregnancy, and now Susan's reaction.
I sit down next to her, and she leans her head on my shoulder.
We sit in silence for a moment, listening to the music and watching the dust particles dance in the dim light.
"I'm sorry," I finally say, breaking the silence.
"I didn't mean to reveal our secret like that."
Sasha sighs deeply, her eyes closing as she rests against me.
"It's not your fault," she says softly.
"I knew this day would come eventually. I just wasn't ready for it."
I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her closer to me.
"We'll face it together," I promise.
"We'll figure out what to do next and make sure everything is okay."
Sasha nods slightly, her eyes still closed.
"I know," she says quietly.
"I just need some time to think."
I nod understandingly, holding her close.
We sit there in silence for a few more moments, enjoying each other's company and trying to make sense of everything that has happened. The flight back to Chicago is long and tiring.
Sasha and I sit next to each other, holding hands and looking out the window at the clouds below.
The plane hits some turbulence, causing Sasha to jolt awake from her sleep.
She looks up at me with wide eyes, her face pale with fear.
"Are you okay?" she asks, her voice shaking slightly.
"Yeah," I reply, trying to reassure her.
"The plane is just experiencing some turbulence. It's nothing to worry about."
Sasha nods slowly, taking a deep breath to calm herself down.
"I know," she says softly.
"It's just that I've always been afraid of flying."
I squeeze her hand gently, trying to comfort her.
"You're safe," I say softly.
"I'm here with you."
Sasha smiles weakly at me, her eyes still filled with fear.
"Thank you," she says quietly. We sit there in silence for a few more moments, watching the clouds below us.
Then Sasha suddenly speaks up again.
"I used to be afraid of flying when I was younger," she says softly.
"My dad was always touring and traveling, so he would fly all the time. I would get so scared whenever he left because I thought something might happen to him."
I turn to look at her, my heart filling with love and sympathy for this strong woman who has been through so much in her life.
"I'm sorry," I say softly.
"Did anything ever happen to him?"
She nods, her eyes welling up with tears.
"Yes," she says softly.
"One day, he didn't come home."
The plane hits another patch of turbulence, causing Sasha to grip my hand tightly.
I look at her, concerned about her fear of flying.
But then I realize that there's something else going on with her, something deeper than just a fear of flying.
Sasha takes a deep breath, her eyes closing as she gathers her thoughts.
"My father was Harry Edwards," she says finally, her voice filled with sadness and regret.
"He was a rock star."
I nod slowly, recognizing the name.
Harry Edwards was a legendary musician who had been famous for decades before his death a few years ago.
He was known for his incredible talent and his wild lifestyle, which included numerous affairs and substance abuse problems. "He was always touring or recording," Sasha continues, her voice filled with pain and longing.
"I hardly ever saw him growing up. But whenever he was home, he would spend all his time in his home studio, working on new music. I would beg him to take me out or play with me, but he would always say that he didn't have time. He promised me that things would be different next time, but they never were."
The plane hits another patch of turbulence, causing Sasha to grip my hand even tighter.
I can feel the fear and anxiety radiating from her body as she struggles to keep herself calm.
"I'm sorry," I say softly, holding her close.
"I can't imagine how hard it must have been for you to grow up without your father around."
Sasha nods slowly, her eyes still closed as she tries to control her emotions.
"It was difficult," she admits.
"But I learned to deal with it. And I always held onto the hope that things would get better someday."
The plane levels out again, and Sasha takes a deep breath as she tries to calm down.
"What happened to him?" she asks finally, looking up at me with tears in her eyes. "He died," I reply softly, feeling a sense of sadness and loss for this man who had been so important to Sasha's life.
"He overdosed on pills in his home studio."
Sasha nods slowly, her eyes filling with tears as she remembers the day that she found out about her father's death.
"I was the one who found him," she says softly, her voice filled with pain and regret.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that," I say, my voice filled with empathy.
Sasha wipes her eyes, trying to regain her composure.
"Thank you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I cradle Sasha against my chest, her head resting on my shoulder as the plane continues to rock gently through the sky.
The other passengers are asleep around us, their snores and gentle movements filling the dimly lit cabin.
The flight attendants move quietly up and down the aisles, checking on everyone and offering water or snacks.
Sasha grips my hand tightly each time we hit a patch of rough air, her breathing quickening as she tries to stay calm.
I stroke her hair gently, trying to comfort her as she struggles to control her fear.
The plane levels out again, and Sasha takes a deep breath as she tries to relax.
She wipes her eyes with her sleeve, smudging her mascara slightly as she tries to compose herself.
"I'm sorry," she says softly, looking up at me with tears in her eyes.
"I didn't mean to break down like that."
I smile at her, feeling a sense of love and compassion for this strong woman who has been through so much in her life.
"You don't have to apologize," I say gently.
"It's okay to feel scared sometimes. And it's even more okay to let yourself feel those emotions and work through them."
Sasha nods slowly, taking a deep breath as she tries to calm down.
"Thank you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I hold her close, feeling a sense of peace and contentment wash over me as I look out the window at the clouds below.
The plane continues to fly smoothly through the sky, carrying us back home after our long and tiring journey. The flight attendant passes by our row again, offering water or snacks to anyone who wants them.
Sasha shakes her head slightly, declining the offer as she burrows deeper into my embrace.
I take a sip of water from the cup that I had asked for earlier, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated after our long journey.
As we continue to fly through the sky, I start telling Sasha stories about my time in the group home where I grew up.
I tell her about how I learned to play guitar and write songs, and how music became my escape from the difficulties of my life.
When we arrive back in Chicago, I get into my car and start driving home.
The streets are quiet as I make my way through the city, passing by familiar landmarks and buildings that I've known all my life.
I turn down the street where my small house is located, and as I approach it, I notice something strange.
There's smoke coming from the direction of my house, and flames are visible through the windows.
My heart sinks as I pull up in front of the house, seeing firefighters and police officers surrounding the area.
There are also onlookers gathered nearby, watching the scene unfold before their eyes.
I park my car and jump out, rushing towards the house to see what's happening.
But before I can get close, one of the firefighters stops me.
"I'm sorry, sir," he says firmly.
"You can't go any closer. The house is on fire."
I nod slowly, feeling a mix of sadness and shock as I watch my home burn down before my eyes. Then I see a figure standing across the street from me - Josh, dressed in a black hoodie and staring at me with a cold smile on his face.
Our eyes meet for a brief moment before he turns away and disappears into the night.
It's then that I realize what happened - Josh set the fire because I wouldn't help him with his music career.
I feel a sense of anger and betrayal towards him for doing something like this, but there's nothing I can do about it now.
The police officers come over to speak with me, asking if I know anything about who might have started the fire.
I tell them about Josh and how he's been angry with me lately, but they say they'll need more evidence to prove that he was involved.
As they continue to investigate, I stand there watching my house burn down before my eyes.
I feel a sense of sadness and loss for everything that I've worked hard to achieve over the years. But then something else hits me - the last photo of my parents was inside that house, and now it's gone forever.
I break down in tears as reality sets in, feeling overwhelmed by grief and despair. The police officers try to comfort me, but there's nothing they can do to ease my pain right now.
I stand there in my smoke-stained clothes from London, shivering in the cold night air as I watch my house burn down before my eyes.
The firefighters continue to work on putting out the flames, but it's clear that there's nothing left to save.
Everything I own is gone - my clothes, my guitar, my parents' photo.
All that's left are charred remains and ashes.
Sasha comes over and wraps her arms around me, holding me close as we watch the destruction unfold before us.
"I'm so sorry," she whispers softly into my ear.
"I can't believe this happened."
I nod slowly, feeling a mix of sadness and anger towards Josh for doing something like this.
But there's nothing I can do about it now.
The police officers continue to investigate, asking questions and gathering evidence to try and determine who started the fire. As they work, Susan comes over to speak with us.
She's dressed in a long coat and high heels, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail as she surveys the scene before her.
"Are you okay?" she asks gently, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I nod slowly, feeling a sense of gratitude towards her for coming here to check on me.
"I'm fine," I say softly.
"But everything I own is gone."
Susan nods understandingly, her eyes filled with sympathy as she looks at me.
"You can stay at my place until you figure out what to do next," she offers kindly.
But then I look over at Sasha, who gives me a reassuring smile as she squeezes my hand gently. "Thank you," I say finally, looking back at Susan with a small smile on my face.
"That would be really helpful right now."
Susan nods again, her expression softening as she looks at me with kindness in her eyes.
"Of course," she says gently.
"We'll get through this together."
Sasha looks at Susan, her eyes filled with gratitude.
"Thank you, Susan," she says quietly.
"I don't know what we would have done without your help."
I walk slowly behind Susan through the smoky night air, my legs feeling heavy with exhaustion.
The flashing lights of the fire trucks paint everything in surreal red and blue.
Sasha squeezes my hand tightly as we approach Susan's black Mercedes, parked a safe distance away from the burning house.
I pause for a moment to look back one last time at the smoldering ruins of what was once my first real home since the group homes.
All that's left is charred wood and melted memories.
Susan opens the car door for me, gesturing for me to get in.
I take a deep breath, knowing that from this moment forward, everything will be different.
I sink into the leather seat, my clothes still reeking of smoke from London.
Sasha slides in beside me, her eyes filled with concern as she squeezes my hand one more time.
Susan gets into the driver's seat, and as she pulls away from the curb, I watch through the tinted windows as the flashing emergency lights fade into the distance.
We drive through the quiet streets of my neighborhood, passing by familiar houses and streetlights that no longer feel like home.
Each streetlight casts a brief glow on our faces before we move on to the next block, further and further away from what's left of my past.
Susan drives carefully, occasionally glancing at me in the rearview mirror to check if I'm okay.
The hum of the car's engine and the gentle motion of the vehicle lull me into a state of semi-consciousness.
But just when I think I might fall asleep, an image flashes through my mind - Josh standing across the street from me, his cold smile illuminated by the fire he set. The car stops at a red light, jolting me out of my thoughts.
I look down at my hands, realizing they're still trembling slightly.
Sasha wraps her arm around my shoulders, pulling me close to her as we wait for the light to change.
"Sasha, do you think Josh will try something else?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
She hesitates, then replies, "I don't know, but we can't let our guard down."
Susan glances back at us and adds, "We'll make sure you're safe, no matter what."
I nod, feeling a mix of gratitude and uncertainty.
The light turns green, and Susan drives on, taking us further away from the smoldering remains of my past.
As we drive through the dark Chicago streets, the smoke smell from my clothes fills the car.
In the rearview mirror, Susan's eyes meet mine with maternal concern.
Sasha squeezes my hand while scrolling through her phone, checking news reports about the fire.
When we pass by the construction site where I used to work, memories flood back - Josh and I working side by side, our banter and laughter filling the air.
The car picks up speed as we merge onto Lake Shore Drive, carrying us towards an uncertain future at Susan's mansion.
I follow Susan and Sasha through the grand foyer of their mansion, my backpack containing the only possessions I have left.
Sasha leads me up the stairs to her bedroom, pointing out the attached bathroom and walk-in closet.
Through the window, I can see the glittering Chicago skyline in the distance.
Susan appears in the doorway, suggesting we head to the studio to work on new music for Sony.
Though the thought of creating feels impossible right now, I nod silently.
In the hallway, I pause at a family photo, remembering the one I lost in the fire.
Sasha notices my hesitation and asks softly, "Do you want to talk about it?"
I shake my head, replying, "Not yet... but thanks for asking."
Susan joins us, her voice gentle as she says, "Whenever you're ready, we're here for you."
We continue down the winding staircase to the basement, where their studio is located.
The room is filled with state-of-the-art equipment and instruments.
Susan flips a few switches, bringing the machines to life.
Sasha adjusts the microphone stand, her movements precise.
I look around, my throat tightening at the thought of recording after everything that's happened.
Susan turns to me, her eyes filled with understanding as she asks, "What song do you want to work on?"
I stare at the soundproofed walls, remembering Josh's cold smile as he watched my house burn.
"Let's write something new," I say, my voice steady for the first time.
I sit on the couch in Sasha's bedroom, my backpack beside me.
I open my notebook and begin to write a song about losing my parents' memories and the house fire Josh caused.
Susan and Sasha arrange for me to stay here, understanding my need for space.
In their basement studio, I channel my pain into music.
I play the piano and sing into the microphone with headphones on.
When I finish, I name the song "Sad and Dark."
Susan uploads it to Apple Music and Spotify through Sony Music Entertainment.
Sasha looks at me, her eyes wide with surprise.
"That was incredible," she says softly, her voice filled with awe.
Susan nods in agreement, adding, "I think this song will reach more people than you realize."
I sit in the studio control room with Sasha, watching the streaming numbers climb for "Sad and Dark."
Susan bursts in, her eyes shining with excitement.
"It's #2 on Billboard's Top 100," she says, her voice filled with pride.
"And it's already hit 24 million streams."
She hands me a multi-platinum plaque, pointing to my face on the cover of magazines and billboards across Chicago.
Tom enters with a $3 million royalty check from Sony.
The music video we filmed in the burned remains of my house spreads across social media, reaching 15 million views.
Sasha turns to me, her voice a mix of disbelief and admiration.
"Did you ever think it would get this big?" she asks, eyes searching mine.
I shake my head slowly, a small smile playing on my lips. "Honestly, I just wanted to be heard."
I drive Sasha to her first prenatal appointment in my new BMW.
We're both nervous about seeing our baby for the first time.
In the waiting room, she grips my hand tightly while filling out medical forms.
When the nurse calls her name, we follow her down the sterile hallway to the examination room.
The doctor enters, greeting us warmly before starting the ultrasound.
As the cold gel touches Sasha's stomach, I stand beside her, watching the small monitor intently.
I grip Sasha's hand tighter as the doctor moves the wand across her belly.
The cold gel makes Sasha flinch slightly, but she keeps her eyes fixed on the grainy black and white monitor.
My heart pounds in my chest as fuzzy shapes appear on screen.
The doctor adjusts some settings, bringing the image into clearer focus.
A distinct form emerges - tiny arms, legs, and a beating heart.
Tears well in my eyes as I see our child for the first time.
Sasha squeezes my hand, her own eyes glistening.
I hold her hand tighter, both of us transfixed by the small form moving on the monitor.
The doctor points out different features - the curve of the spine, the profile of the face, those miniature fingers.
"Everything looks healthy," she assures us, her voice filled with warmth.
My voice trembles with emotion as I lean close to Sasha's ear.
"Our baby," I whisper, my words barely audible.
Sasha turns to me, her eyes filled with tears, and nods silently.
The doctor prints several copies of the ultrasound image and hands them to us carefully.
I help Sasha back into her clothes and tuck the ultrasound photos into my jacket pocket.
She leans back in the passenger seat, one hand resting on her stomach while the other holds mine.
The afternoon sun streams through the windshield, casting a warm glow over us as we sit in comfortable silence.
Both of us are still processing what we just witnessed - our baby, small but alive, moving within Sasha.
After a moment, Sasha speaks up, her voice filled with longing.
"Can I see the pictures again?"
I pull the photos from my pocket and hand them to her.
Together, we trace our fingers over the grainy image of our baby's profile, marveling at the tiny nose and curved spine.
I turn the key in the ignition of my BMW, the engine purring to life.
Sasha carefully tucks the ultrasound photos into her purse, a small smile on her face.
As we pull out of the hospital parking lot, she reaches across the center console and takes my hand again.
The afternoon sun streams through the windshield as we cruise down Lake Shore Drive.
Sasha talks excitedly about converting Susan's spare room into a nursery, picking out paint colors and furniture.
I picture myself assembling a crib, hanging a mobile, reading bedtime stories.
Sasha glances at me, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Do you think we should tell our parents tonight?" she asks, a hint of nervousness in her voice.
I nod, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "Yeah, it's time they know they're going to be grandparents."
I park my BMW in Susan's circular driveway, helping Sasha out of the passenger seat.
She practically bounces up the steps, clutching the ultrasound photos to her chest.
We enter the mansion, and I hear Susan's voice coming from the living room.
She's seated on the couch, reviewing contracts with her assistant.
Sasha rushes over, pulling the photos from her purse.
"Mom, look!"
Susan's eyes widen as Sasha points out different features of the baby.
Then Sasha launches into a detailed description of her vision for the nursery - pale yellow walls, white furniture, and a musical mobile.
I stand back, watching them animatedly discuss their plans.
I watch Susan's face light up as she hugs Sasha tightly, their earlier tension about the secret pregnancy forgotten.
She immediately starts listing all the baby items they'll need to buy - a crib, changing table, and rocking chair.
Sasha mentions wanting musical decorations, and Susan pulls out her phone to show her the nursery inspiration photos she's already saved.
They huddle together on the couch, scrolling through Pinterest boards and planning every detail.
I stand awkwardly nearby, feeling like an outsider in this moment of maternal bonding.
Susan looks up at me, a warm smile on her face.
She pats the seat beside them on the couch.
"Come join us," she says, her voice filled with excitement.
I sit in my studio, putting the final touches on my third album "My Blood".
Sasha is upstairs sleeping.
Our Los Angeles mansion is massive compared to the house I grew up in back in Chicago.
The house has fifteen rooms, spread across three floors.
The windows are all bulletproof and there are security cameras everywhere.
The studio is on the bottom floor with glass walls that look out onto our backyard.
I watch as the sun sets over the hills, reflecting off of our infinity pool.
My phone buzzes on the table next to me, alerting me to a new notification.
I pick it up and see that "Hello" has reached double platinum status.
I smile to myself as I set my phone back down and get back to work.
A few hours later, I head upstairs to check on Sasha.
She's lying in our bed, her hands resting on her very pregnant belly.
She smiles at me as I walk into the room, but I can see a hint of pain in her eyes.
"Is it time?"
I hurry across our bedroom to her side, my heart pounding in my chest.
The setting sun casts long shadows through the floor-to-ceiling windows of our Los Angeles mansion.
I take her hand, feeling her grip tighten as she grimaces through another wave of discomfort.
Her other hand remains pressed against her swollen belly.
I grab my phone from the nightstand, the doctor's number already pulled up on screen.
Sasha's breathing grows more labored as she shifts position on our king-sized bed.
"Not yet," she whispers, her voice strained but determined.
I nod, trying to mask my worry with a reassuring smile.
"We'll get through this together, just like we always do," I say softly, squeezing her hand.
I grip my phone tightly, describing the contractions to Dr. Martinez on the other end of the line.
My feet wear a path in our bedroom carpet as I pace anxiously.
Sasha lies on the bed, her face contorted in pain as another wave hits her.
She clutches the sheets, trying to breathe through it while I relay the timing - seven minutes apart, lasting forty-five seconds.
Suddenly, Sasha cries out louder than before, her voice piercing through the room.
I freeze mid-step, my heart skipping a beat.
"Bring her to the hospital now," Dr. Martinez instructs firmly.
I hang up and rush to help Sasha sit up.
I wrap my arm around her waist, supporting her weight as she leans heavily against me.
Her face is a mask of pain, and she can barely stand without doubling over.
We move slowly, taking small steps down the curved staircase that leads to the marble foyer on the first floor.
With each step, I feel her tense against another contraction.
We pause frequently, waiting for the pain to subside before continuing.
In the foyer, Sasha grabs my shoulder, bending over as another contraction hits.
She breathes rapidly, her hand clenching around my shirt as she rides out the pain.
Finally, we reach the front door and step out into the night air.
The coolness hits us immediately, but it does little to ease Sasha's discomfort.
I fumble with the car keys in my pocket, struggling to keep my hand steady while supporting her weight. We shuffle across the driveway to where my black BMW is parked.
The sound of gravel crunching beneath our feet fills the air as we make our way towards the car.
The engine roars to life, and with Sasha safely inside, I speed towards the hospital, urgency propelling us through the quiet streets.
I pull up to the emergency entrance, tires screeching on the pavement.
Sasha grips the dashboard, her face contorted in pain as another contraction hits.
Two nurses burst through the sliding doors with a wheelchair after seeing us arrive.
I jump out and rush to Sasha's side, opening the passenger door.
She winces as she tries to step out, but her legs buckle from a sharp contraction.
I catch her before she falls, supporting her weight as I help her into the wheelchair.
The nurses assist me, easing her into the chair while I grab her hospital bag from the trunk.
"Wait," Sasha gasps, her eyes wide with sudden realization.
"What is it?" I ask, panic rising in my throat.
"It's too soon," she whispers urgently, clutching my arm, "I think the baby's coming now."
I grip her hand tightly, my heart racing.
The nurses wheel her through the emergency room doors, and we race down sterile hallways, following urgent voices directing us to Labor and Delivery.
The fluorescent lights blur past as we move swiftly, Sasha's face contorted in pain.
Her grip on my hand tightens with each contraction, her breathing growing more labored.
We turn a corner, and a sign reads "Labor and Delivery" in bold letters.
The nurses push Sasha through the double doors, and we enter a bustling ward filled with expectant mothers and medical staff.
"Room 3," someone calls out, guiding us towards a delivery room.
We rush inside, and the nurses quickly transfer Sasha to the hospital bed.
She screams as another contraction hits, her body tense with pain.
"I feel pressure," she gasps between breaths, "the baby's coming."
A nurse checks her quickly, her expression serious as she announces, "She's crowning. The baby's coming now!"
Medical staff swarm into the room, pulling on gloves and preparing equipment.
I stand frozen beside Sasha's bed, holding her hand tightly as she bears down with all her strength.
"It's okay, baby," I whisper, my voice shaking with emotion.
"You can do this."
Sasha pushes again, her face contorted in pain, and a small cry fills the room.
Our daughter is born.
The nurses quickly clean her and hand her to Sasha, who cradles her in her arms.
I stand beside them, tears of joy streaming down my face as I gaze at our little miracle.
She's perfect, with beautiful biracial skin that blends Sasha's white and my black heritage.
Her tiny hands curl around Sasha's finger, and she lets out a soft whimper as she nuzzles closer to her mother's chest.
Sasha looks up at me, her eyes shining with happiness.
"Meet Molly Edwards," she whispers softly.
I lean down and kiss Sasha on the forehead, then gently stroke Molly's soft hair.
"We did it," I whisper, my heart overflowing with love for our little family.
The sound of the door opening draws our attention, and we turn to see Susan and Tom entering the room.
Their faces light up with joy as they see their granddaughter in Sasha's arms.
"Oh, she's beautiful," Susan coos, rushing over to hug Sasha tightly.
Tom follows behind, his eyes misty as he gazes at Molly.
"She looks just like you when you were born," he whispers to Sasha, his voice filled with emotion. I watch as they fawn over Molly, their faces filled with love and adoration.
It's moments like these that make everything worth it - the late nights, the early mornings, the endless hours spent working towards a dream that sometimes seems impossible.
As I look at my family gathered around me, I feel a sense of peace wash over me.
This is what it means to be truly happy.
One of the nurses comes forward with a clipboard in hand and smiles warmly at us.
"Congratulations on the arrival of your beautiful daughter," she says softly.
"I just need you to sign these papers so we can finalize everything."
I take the clipboard from her and begin filling out the necessary information - name, date of birth, time of birth, weight, height...and then comes the part where I have to fill out both parents' names. My heart sinks as I stare blankly at the page before me.
I hold the hospital clipboard in my hand, carefully writing down "Mohamed Abdi" as the father and "Sasha Edwards" as the mother.
When I hand it back to the nurse, her eyes widen with recognition.
She glances between me and the paperwork, a look of realization crossing her face.
"Oh my God," she whispers, her voice filled with excitement.
"You're Mohamed Abdi."
I nod slightly, not wanting to draw too much attention to myself.
But it's too late.
The nurse's eyes light up with recognition, and she can't contain her enthusiasm.
"I love your music," she gushes, barely able to contain herself.
"I have all three of your platinum albums. And I've been to two of your sold-out tours. You're so talented."
I smile politely, trying not to let her fawning get to me.
It's not the first time someone has recognized me, and it won't be the last.
But I'm here for Sasha and Molly, not for myself.
The nurse continues to talk excitedly about my music, listing off my achievements like a Wikipedia page.
"Three platinum albums, thirty chart-topping songs, sold-out tours all over the world...and you're only twenty-five years old. You're so young and successful. And rich! Oh my God, you're so rich." I listen patiently as she goes on and on about my wealth and fame.
It's not something I like to dwell on, but it's hard to ignore when people bring it up all the time.
Finally, she finishes talking and takes the completed forms from me.
"Thank you so much," she says with a smile.
"I'll get these processed right away."
She turns and walks back to the nurses' station, still talking excitedly about me to the other medical staff.
I walk back to Sasha's hospital bed, where she's still cradling Molly in her arms.
The little girl is sleeping peacefully, her tiny chest rising and falling with each breath.
I sit down on the edge of the bed and study my daughter's face.
Her curly black hair frames her delicate features, and her long eyelashes rest against her cheeks.
She has a small nose and full lips, just like her mother.
Sasha shifts slightly to make room for me, and I carefully slide next to them on the bed.
I wrap my arm around Sasha's shoulders and pull her close to me.
The sound of the beeping monitors and the bustle of the hospital fade into the background as I focus on my new family.
In this moment, nothing else matters.
I am exactly where I need to be.
I lean over the hospital bassinet, peering down at Molly's peaceful sleeping face.
Her tiny chest rises and falls with each breath, and the monitors beep softly in the background.
Sasha is dozing in the hospital bed next to me, exhausted from the long labor and delivery.
I study Molly's delicate features, taking in every detail of her face.
Her curly black hair frames her heart-shaped face, and her long eyelashes rest against her cheeks.
She has a small nose and full lips, just like her mother.
I gently brush my finger against her tiny hand, marveling at how small and fragile it is.
Molly stirs slightly in her sleep, but she doesn't wake up.
I bend down to place a soft kiss on her forehead, feeling a wave of love and protectiveness wash over me.
Sasha stirs and opens her eyes, looking up at me with a tired but content smile.
"Can you believe she's finally here?" she whispers, her voice filled with awe.
I nod, my heart swelling with emotion. "She's perfect, just like her mother."
Sasha chuckles softly, her eyes shining with happiness.
"She's definitely a mix of both of us," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
I stand up and walk over to the bassinet, gently swaying it back and forth with my hand.
Molly's tiny fingers curl and uncurl as she sleeps, but she doesn't wake up.
I start humming a soft melody, the sound blending with the beeping of the monitors.
The room is quiet except for the gentle hum of the machines and the sound of my own voice.
Sasha watches me from her bed, a smile on her face.
The bassinet's metal frame squeaks slightly with each gentle push, but Molly doesn't stir.
I continue to sway the bassinet back and forth, my voice growing softer as I hum.
A nurse enters the room to check Molly's vitals, but I don't stop humming.
The nurse smiles at us, and in that moment, everything feels right.